One by one, the girls give me their order and I hand them their ice cream. Out of habit, my eyes flick to the glass every time they tap on it to point at their ice cream.
Niyah orders last. “I’ll have chocolate, please. That’s my favorite.”
She thanks me when I hand her the cone, then skips away to an outside table with her friends. She seems very sweet. It’s a mystery how she and Jay are related.
“That was the last cone,” I tell Jay, who’s the last person standing in front of me and didn’t get any ice cream. “Did you miscount when you ordered?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t like ice cream.”
With a calculated look at me, he lifts his hand and slowly wipes it on the glass, dragging it from the top to the bottom. My eye twitches, and his smile widens. He issucha jerk, a jerk who notices way too much.
“See ya, Princess,” he says, turning to leave.
“And you thinkI’mthe weird one,” I call out to him as he chuckles and exits the bakery, joining his team at the picnic table. Who doesn’t likeice cream? People who can’t be trusted, that’s who.
As I watch through the window, Niyah shifts over on the bench to make room for Jay. He smiles at her, and I zero in on the chocolate cone in her hand. Jay’s last visit to the bakery comes to mind, and so do his words when I smeared chocolate ice cream all over his shirt. I groan as I connect the dots, and even though Jay deserved it, guilt nibbles at my stomach. Outside, Jay hands a girl a napkin, and another girl high-fives him. His smile is wide and genuine, and I realize I’m scowling.
There’s more than meets the eye with Jay, and that upsets me. I liked it better when I thought of him as that jerk who threatened to throw me off the cliff and has an intimate knowledge of my panty colors.
Jay and I make eye contact through the window, and he winks at me. If I could get away with flipping him off, I would. Instead, I grab the glass cleaner and paper towels, walk around to the other side of the counter, and take my anger out by vigorously wiping the handprints away.
Eight
The nerves hit when I park my car in front of La Mesa Mexican Restaurant. I told Kalani I didn’t want Arthur to have my number, lest we have another incident like I did with Jay, so we’re doing this the old-fashioned way. Emi convinced me that this date couldn’t possibly be worse than my last date, and she doesn’t even know the half of it—specifically the part about him calling out my crush on Emmett—so I wasn’t too nervous. But now, gathering my cross-body purse and walking through the parking lot, Iamnervous, and I’m not sure if that’s because I’m scared it’s going to be worse than my date with Jay or scared it’ll be better.
I decided on a short jean skirt and a nice purple crop top for today’s date, and when I put on matching purple underwear, my thoughts wandered to Jay.What color are your panties today? Denim?he would ask, and I’d have the satisfaction of saying no, they’re not. He’s never encountered me in jeans before, and I laughed at the thought of stumping him.
My phone vibrates—it’s a text from Jay.
Have fun on your date! Hope he gets paid.
I scoff. It’s like he knew I was just thinking about him. I put my phone away without responding and enter the restaurant.
“Hello, reservation under Arthur,” I tell the hostess. The restaurant has Spanish music playing, and my hips casually sway to the beat on their own. The lighting is dim, but not as dim as Murphey’s. There are traditional Mexican decorations everywhere, and a beautiful mural of women wearing dancing skirts covers the wall closest to me. I study the ten-foot painting, admiring the way the brushstrokes were purposefully left in and how orange and pink hues were used throughout to bring the piece together even though they weren’t needed.
“Right this way.” The hostess smiles and leads me through the dining area.
Like last time, I scan the tables, looking for a familiar face. I never figured out who Arthur is, mostly because I didn’t care enough to try.
She stops in front of a table, and a boy quickly stands up.
“Here you are,” the hostess says, then she turns to leave.
Arthur is about my height, and he’s in a suit. He clearly understands how to use color theory to his advantage, because the deep navy of his suit and the rich, dark plum of his tie work perfectly together to bring out the warmth in his eyes. Even so, it’s not exactly appropriate for our setting since he’s completely overdressed, but who am I to judge? He looks like he’s trying, and I can appreciate that.
“Carina, h-hi.” He swallows nervously and sticks his hand out for me.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking his hand. He holds on for longer than necessary, and I gently extract my hand, casually wiping it on my skirt to get his sweat off it. His eagerness is endearing but a little off-putting. We sit on opposite sides of the table, but there are three place settings. It must be a mistake, but I don’t point it out.
“When Kalani told me she wanted to set us up on a date, I couldn’t believe it,” Arthur says, staring at me with eyes full of wonder.
Arthur’s not exactly my type, but then again,Emmett’smy type, and Kalani’s not going to set me up with him. Arthur’s hair is short and blond, not floppy, brown, or curly enough for my taste; his eyes are brown instead of ocean blue, framed by black-rimmed glasses. His qualities would make him cute, sure, but to someone who’s been staring at Emmett all day every day for the last almost four years, he’s not what I’d prefer, but I have to get over that because that’s my issue, not Arthur’s.
“Why’s that?” I ask him, opening a menu.
It’s not like I’m a celebrity or Miss Popularity or anything. Kalani is pretty popular, because she cares about that kind of stuff, and maybe I’m popular by association. But I wouldn’t callmyselfpopular. I’m well-liked and have lots of friends in different social circles because I like connecting with people on a deeper level, which is easy to do when I’ve spent the last four years getting dragged along to events by Kalani. She inevitably gets swept up by one group of people or another, which means I’m forced to either talk to people or stand awkwardly in the corner. But like always, Kalani pushing me out of my comfort zone led to something positive, because now I’m always waving at people in the hallway or stopping for a quick chat about someone’s dog or my latest art installation. I try to remember that I’m being pushed out of my comfort zone now and hope it too leads to something great.
Arthur’s jaw drops for a quick second. “Because you’re Carina Costella. I’m on a date withCarina Costella.”